She shall remain anonymous. Because that’s how she wants it. She doesn’t want attention.
She waits tables for a living. She’s on her feet for long hours. And when she’s finished, she goes home and takes care of three kids.
The same three kids her ex left her with. The same kids her ex said he didn’t want anymore. The same ex who left her for another woman.
In addition to waitressing, sometimes she works a second shift with her brother-in-law’s moving service. It’s difficult, lifting all those heavy boxes. But sometimes you don’t have a choice.
But this story isn’t about her. Not really. It’s about the week she had.
It all started on a Monday. She had been spending a lot of cash getting her kids ready to start the new school year. Buying clothes from Walmart. Purchasing school supplies. New shoes. Personal hygiene products. Snacks. Phone chargers. And God-knows-whatever else kids need these days.
Raising a kid in America will cost a parent approximately $389,000 over 18 years. If you think that’s expensive, try raising three.
The first table of customers came into the café for breakfast. A group of older ladies. The waitress had never met them before. But they seemed oddly familiar with her somehow.
When things were finished, each customer tipped her $100. There were four $100 bills on the table.
Our heroine was overwhelmed. “I can’t accept this,” she replied.
But the group of ladies said nothing. They quietly left the establishment.
Next, a group of guys walked in. Middle-ageish guys. Golf attire. When their meal was finished, there were six $100 bills on the table.
“What’s going on here?” said our heroine, a little offended. She is a proud woman. The poor often are.
“You can’t leave this money,” she said. “I don’t want it. I won’t take it.”
The men said nothing, they just left.
Then, a family came into the restaurant. A mom, dad, a few kids. She served them. She’d never met them before. When the dad paid the bill, he handed her a hundred. Both kids handed her fifties.
She rejected the money and told them to get lost. But when she cleared the table, the hundreds were lying beneath the plates.
Another group came in. More hundreds. A group after that. More hundreds.
She kept asking these customers what the hell was going on. Just who were these whackos? How did they know her? How did they know she needed money? There were no clues. Nobody was saying anything. Nobody was leaving notes inviting her to shave her head and join some Kool-Aid cult. There were no strings attached.
Nearly $3000 dollars later, our heroine was in tears. She told a coworker that it felt like the whole world was buzzing with some kind of “spiritual electricity.” As though none of this was real. This was all a dream. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life.
She hasn’t told anyone about it. She hasn’t told her kids. None of the Samaritans made a social-media video to document their good deed, pandering for billions of likes. Her coworker is the one who told me, but would not divulge the waitress’s name, age, or city. Because as I say, she wishes to remain anonymous. Which is fine, I guess.
Except. You can’t be anonymous when all of Heaven knows your name.
Questions: SeanDietrich@gmail.com
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Originally published on Sean’s website. Republished here with permission.
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